


Five Times Eric Bittle Cried over Jack Zimmermann

by LittleLesbian



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff, I imagine him crying whenever he gets emotional (like me), M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, but he's still tough as nails, but it can be skipped, but the rest will take place afterwards, chapter 3 discusses drug abuse and suicide, eric is a bit of a cry baby, first chapter is based on the last update, typical amounts of cussing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:43:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7335793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLesbian/pseuds/LittleLesbian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric Bittle was what you would call a crier. He cries when he's happy, he cries when he's sad, he cries when he's angry, he even cries when he's confused. Really, if Bitty's feeling any strong emotions there's a good chance tears will be shed. It's mostly annoying, especially when you have a boyfriend that makes you feel more strongly than you ever have before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why can't the NHL have a no checking policy?

The game hadn’t been particularly rough, as far as hockey games went. There were fouls, and checking, and a few tense almost fist fights, but that in and of itself wasn’t out of the ordinary. What had Bitty gripping the edge of the couch and wincing vicariously was just how many of these checks were directed at his boyfriend. He’d seen Jack get checked before, heck, he’d been playing next to Jack when he’d gotten checked before, but somehow this was worse. Not only did checking in the NHL somehow seem much harder than college hockey, but the way that they would replay the bad ones, show Jack getting thrown over a hip or slammed into a wall in high definition, got to him. 

His hausmates didn’t seem nearly as bothered, of course. They were cheering and shouting as much as they had at Jack’s last game. Bitty tried to cheer along with them, to not worry so much, but he couldn’t help it. He knew Jack. It didn’t matter how hard he got hit, he would keep playing as long as no one physically stopped him. What if he was seriously hurt? What if he got a concussion and no one noticed? People die from undiagnosed concussions.

“Bits, you seem tense, man.” Lardo said, handing him a beer.

He gave her a nervous grin and took a sip to distract himself; “It’s a pretty rough game, is all.”

She chugged half of her own beer, burped, and shrugged; “yeah, it’s more physical than the other ones have been. But Jack can handle it.”

Bitty smiled at her and relaxed a little. She was right, of course. Jack would be fine. Jack can handle hard checks. Jack just got hit in the face by a hockey puck. 

Bitty couldn’t help gasping, his hands coming up to cover his mouth instinctively. It had come at him quickly, sailing straight from one of the opposing player's hockey sticks and into Jack's jaw. His head had jerked to the side with the impact, a spurt of blood made visible as the clip was replayed in slow motion. Ransom and Holster were both yelling about fouls and penalties, but Bitty was more concerned with how Jack was bent over, one hand bracing himself on his knee, the other held up to his face. The camera zoomed in as a ref skated over, showing Jack taking his helmet off, blood running down his neck from a gash in his chin. Bitty watched with wide eyes as he pressed a towel to his face and was escorted off of the ice, grimacing slightly but looking mostly stoic as the camera's followed him.

He knew, rationally, that it probably wasn’t that bad. He also knew that it had to hurt and that Jack would absolutely hate that he was forced to stop playing. His chest tightened as he imagined Jack going to get stitches in the side of his face alone, clenching his fists and not saying anything while pretending it didn't hurt as much as it clearly did. 

He slipped out of the room quickly, waving off Lardo’s concerned look; "I have to pee, let me know when the game starts again."

When he got to the bathroom he leaned against the wall, putting his wrist to the back of his mouth and taking a deep breath. He could feel his throat tightening, knew he was going to cry. The flash of Jack’s head being whipped to the side by the force of the huge rubber puck slamming into his jaw put him over the edge. He let out a few quiet sobs and wiped at his eyes furiously, trying to calm his breathing. He was being silly, he knew, but he hated that Jack was hurt and he was stuck here at Samwell, unable to take care of him or support him. 

“Bitty! We know the game’s less fun without Jack playing but you’re missing shit!” Holster yelled from the living room, and Bitty huffed out a laugh.

“Let me use the bathroom in peace!” he shouted back, glad that his voice sounded normal. 

He pulled out his phone and sent Jack a text, despite knowing he wouldn’t see it for a while.

 

:(((((((((((( oh no sweetheart, your beautiful face!   
You played so great tonight, skating through all of those checks!

 

He knew Jack would call him as soon as he could, and Bitty would go up to Providence to see him after his Economics quiz tomorrow—he would be skipping French class, but it’s not like he hadn’t skipped class to visit Jack before—and then he would be able to take care of him. For right now, though, he had to go into the living room and pretend that he didn’t have any more reason to be effected by Jack’s injury than anyone else. 

Maybe he would make a pie instead.


	2. Jack Brings a little Queen B into Eric's Life

Bitty didn’t like to make a fuss about his own birthday. He usually baked his own birthday pie, for goodness sake. That’s not to say that he didn’t appreciate some recognition; It’s just nice to know that people are thinking of you, that they remembered at least, that they got their stupid heads out of their hockey obsessed asses long enough to maybe just call and say ‘happy birthday’. Or even text. Or email. Anything. 

But, really, it was fine. He didn’t want to make a fuss. He would just bake his birthday pie more aggressively than usual and when he went to bed he would ignore Jack’s usual skype call and then he could see what it feels like to not be acknowledged. 

It wasn’t just Jack, though. He had seen Lardo this morning on his way to class, and Ransom and Holster were both hanging out in the attic when he got back but no one had said anything. He understood, really. His birthday fell during finals season, everyone was a little preoccupied. 

He smiled at Chowder as he dashed into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of orange juice from the fridge, and ran out again. Nothing. Chowder had never forgotten his birthday before. If it wasn’t for his mother’s text this morning he would doubt whether he had the right date. 

He couldn’t help but hope that they were planning something, a surprise like Betsy 2.0 had been, but as the clock ticked past 7pm he was starting to give up hope. His birthday pie, triple berry chocolate, was baked and on the counter, but what made it a birthday pie, really? Sure, he had used the good baking chocolate, but it’s not like his hausemates had the pallets to notice that sort of thing. Maybe he could go get some candles at Stop N Shop. If he stuck twenty one of them into a pie then maybe someone’s memory would be jogged. 

Or he could just sit here, scrolling through social media sites on his phone and feeling sorry for himself. 

“Bitty!” Holster shouted, barreling his way into the kitchen. Bitty tried to ignore him, but he jumped and looked up when he slammed both of his hands against the table in front of where he was sitting. 

“Bitty, don’t freak out!”

“Freak out ab—“

His question was cut off as a black pillow case was thrown over his head from behind. He shrieked at he felt someone pick him up bridal style, flailing his arms and almost dropping his phone.

“Stop freaking out!” Holster shouted from somewhere in front of him. It must be Ransom carrying him, then.

“What the hell—“

“No questions!”

He felt the air shift as he was carried outside and grunted as he was shoved into the back seat of a car. The pillow case was just thin enough that he could see Holster’s looming form sitting beside him.

“I could have walked to the car!”

“That would have spoiled the surprise!”

“Not if you blindfolded me once I got into the car!” Bitty shouted, frustratedly trying to pull off the pillowcase as Ransom grabbed his arms and held them down; “whose car is this anyway?”

“Buckle that little brah up, we’re going on a motherfucking field trip!”

“Shitty!” Bitty gasped as he felt a seatbelt get pulled across his chest.

“You’re currently sitting between your two favorite D-men. I am your talented and amazing driver this evening, with Lardo here as my copilot—“

“Sup”

“—Chowder’s following behind in his own vehicle with your two favorite frog D-men and all of the little tadpoles.”

Bitty laughed in relief; “I knew there was no way all’ya’ll forgot my birthday!”

“It’s your birthday?” Ransom asked, but he was laughing.

“Of course we didn’t forget your birthday, Bitty.” Lardo said, and he felt a hand patting his knee.

“Please never use that long of a contraction again.” Shitty chirped, and Bitty snorted. 

“All’ya’ll’dve done the same if you were raised in the south.” he drawled, purposefully exaggerating his accent, laughing as a chorus of groans rose up around him.

As they drove, listening to Holster singing along to every pop song on the radio, Bitty started to hope. They had been driving for thirty minutes already. It was thirty five to forty five minutes to Providence depending on traffic, and the thought that he would get to see Jack tonight had his gut twisting in anticipation. He hadn’t even bothered to ask where they were going or if he could take the pillow case off, grateful that he wasn’t the type to get carsick. Breathing into a pillow case got very stuffy very quickly, though.

“So, Bitty.” Ransom said, draping an arm over Bitty’s back; “now that you’re twenty one and legal, how do you feel about getting wasted this weekend?”

“We know all of the best clubs” Holster said, draping his arm over Bitty’s shoulders from the other side; “We can show you how to party. Even get you some action.”

Bitty grinned from behind the pillowcase; “Yes to the wasted part, yes to the clubs, pass on the one night stands.”

He felt Ransom and Holster both shrug; “We can be your bro dates, then.” Ransom said, and Holster laughed.  
“It’ll be swasome.”

“If alcohol abuse is involved, I’ll be there too.” Lardo piped up from the front seat.

“I wish I could be, man, but I’ve got homework up to my tits.” Shitty groaned, sounding genuinely upset.

“That’s ok, Shitty! I’m just so glad you came today for… whatever this is!” Bitty said.

“It’s swasome is what it is!” Lardo shouted as the car pulled to a stop. 

Bitty found himself jostled around as Ransom and Holster struggled to take of his seatbelt—despite the fact that he could do it much easier himself—push him over to the edge of the seat, and then lift him up bridal style again.

“Why can’t ya’ll just guide me while I walk!” He screeched as he was swooped up.

“You could get hurt!” Holster shouted from way too close to Bitty’s ear. 

The sun must have just set, because he could see the vague, blurry shapes of Ransom, Lardo, and Shitty through the pillow case. There was some commotion off to his right and he heard the rest of SMH piling out of Chowder’s car and trampling towards them. 

Eric felt giddy as he was taken into a familiar apartment lobby and everyone was crammed into an elevator that went up, according to the pings, exactly nine floors. There was no doubt that he was in Jack’s apartment complex. As they got off of the elevator he was carried into a place that smelled familiar and wonderful and was dropped unceremoniously onto his feet. He stumbled forwards and was about to catch his balance when the pillow case was torn off of his head and the light were turned on. He reached out to steady himself on something solid as a chorus of “surprise!” rose up around him.

He blinked and squinted in the sudden light as he felt large, familiar hands grip his shoulders.

“Did you leave that hood on him for the whole drive?” Jack laughed.

Eric ignored them as Ransom and Holster tried to explain the importance of the element of surprise, jumping up and wrapping his legs around Jack’s waist. He laughed when Jack grunted, his hands came up to support Bitty’s weight instinctually. He knew he was pushing the limits of unsuspicious affection but he was too excited to care.

“That’s a-fuckin-dorable!” Shitty shouted, embracing Bitty from behind, his arms wrapping around both him and Jack. Trust Shitty to make any amount of platonic physical affection acceptable. 

He wasn’t even surprised when he felt his chest tighten, tears leaking from his eyes. He was just so happy. All of his friends were here, Jack’s apartment was decorated with streamers and a big banner that said “Happy 2nd Birthday!” with a 1 drawn sloppily after the 2 in sharpie, and Beyoncé was playing from Jack’s high end Bluetooth speaker in the living room. 

He shoved his face into Jack’s neck and let himself cry for a few seconds, shouting things like “I love ya’ll so much!” and “I can’t believe ya’ll!” while everyone patted his back and laughed at how sappy he was. 

Eventually Jack set him down and a beer was pressed into his hands—legally!—as he was ushered into the living room to watch Nursey and Dex battle Holster and Ransom at pool. He stayed by Jack’s side the whole night and no one questioned it, everyone too drunk or too busy partying to notice when Jack’s hand rested on his backside. 

Everyone, apparently, was going to spend the night here and go to Jack’s home game tomorrow. The whole thing had been planned out by Jack weeks in advance, including everyone pretending to forget Bitty’s birthday. He smacked Jack good naturedly when that part was mentioned, but he squeezed his thigh in a way that promised a reward later. 

When he opened Jack’s present to reveal two tickets to Beyoncé’s concert he burst into tears all over again, but everyone’s chirping could hardly bother him when life was this perfect.


	3. Supporting your Boyfriend

               It was a hot, dreary afternoon in Providence, the air weighing heavily on everything and slowing the world down. Bitty should have been studying for finals, but instead he was laying on the couch scrolling lazily through twitter. He wasn’t even absorbing what he was reading, just flipping mindlessly through his feed. Jack would be back from practice any minute now and would probably make him do something, never one to let the weather dampen his drive for productivity. Bitty huffed and rolled over, mushing his face into the couch cushions. Jack was going on a roadie in four days and he was not looking forward to having his best distraction unavailable.

               When the door opened Bitty sat up, grinning at Jack as he went to put his bag in the weight lifting room, Jack returning the smile thinly.

               “Hi, honey!” he called as Jack came into the sitting room.

               He sat heavily next to Bitty, his shoulders hunched down low like they always did when he was unhappy. Perhaps, Bitty hoped, he was just tired.

               “I’ve been thinking.” He said before stopping himself. Not just tired then. “There are things that I haven’t told you. Things you should know.”

               “Alright. You can tell me anything, Jack.” Bitty said, placing his hand on Jack’s shoulder.

               “If we keep winning we’ll play the Aces soon.” Jack said, an inconspicuous sentence by itself, but to Bitty it explained exactly what he was talking about.

               He was no fool. He knew that Jack had a history and he knew, from the media and from Jack himself, that not all of that history was positive. He also knew that part of that history was Kent Parson, but exactly what role he played was still indeterminable. He’d never asked, not knowing Jack well enough when he had first met Kent and not knowing how to bring it up afterwards. It seemed that he was being saved the trouble.

               “I don’t want to see him.” Jack said, and Bitty understood. Whatever part Kent played in his past he was a reminder of it, a symbol of who Jack could be right now, what he could have already accomplished if everything had gone as he had wanted it to.

               Jack stood up suddenly, dislodging Bitty’s hand from his shoulder; “Can we go to the bedroom?” he asked, his voice tight; “here it’s too” he gestured vaguely; “open.”

               “Of course, honey.” Bitty said, already standing up. He followed Jack to the bedroom, sitting gingerly beside him when he lowered himself slowly onto the bed.

               “I’m just going to start.” He said, looking at Bitty, his eyes earnest and a little scared. Bitty nodded, trying to look like he wasn’t afraid himself.

               “I started taking a lot of pills when I was eighteen. It was the year of the draft, and the doses that I had been on up until then weren’t enough anymore. I couldn’t handle the pressure. I wish I could say it started slowly, with one extra pill here and there, but it really didn’t. I was nervous for this one game, shaking so hard I couldn’t even tape my stick properly. I took one extra pill, and then ten minutes later I took another two. It was three times my normal dose, but I wasn’t shaking anymore. After that, I took that much before every game. It made me sick afterwards, my stomach would cramp and I would feel feverish, but it was worth it to me. I didn’t like going to the after parties anyway. Kent was always there and he—“Jack paused, pushing a frustrated hand through his hair; “Kent was fun to be around when we were alone. He helped me loosen up, have fun. He was the first real friend I ever had. But he had this chip in his shoulder.

               “The first thing he ever said to me was ‘you think you’re special, Zimmermann? You’re not shit’. It was… different. No one had ever talked to me like that. Because of my dad everyone either revered or avoided me. I knew that people hated me, hated how I was a legacy, how I grew up with Bad Bob as my own private coach, but no one had ever said anything to my face. We played together and the coaches thought we worked well enough to be put on the same line. I told him that he was really good because he was, and eventually all of his comments about my growing up with a silver spoon in my mouth and being a daddy’s boy became less mean and more like chirping. We started spending time together off the ice, started working out together when we didn’t have to. I took him to meet my family, to meet some famous hockey players I’d grown up knowing. At first I thought that was the only reason he was friends with me. I had connections, and I didn’t mind sharing them. But after a while it developed into more.  We weren’t just friends. We were… I don’t know. We weren’t dating, and we weren’t in love or anything, but we kissed and had sex and it seemed natural. Like what we should be doing. It was aggressive and fun and…”

               Jack stopped there, taking a deep breath to collect himself. Bitty wasn’t shocked to find out they had been sexually involved together, but to hear Jack say in in that blunt, deadpan way of his was somehow unsettling.

               “He would still say things. Really only in public, and I would always just brush it off as chirping even though sometimes… sometimes it felt like more than that. He would talk about how much better a player he was than me, say things like ‘you see, Zimms, you have the money and the hockey family, but I have the talent’ and ‘I grew up with nothing and made my way to the top. You grew up on the top, and now you gotta step back for players like me.’”

               Something of his anger must have shown in Bitty’s face, because Jack was quick to placate.

               “He always said it jokingly. He was always grinning, and afterwards he would slap my shoulder, say something nice about how I played in the last game. I didn’t even realize how much it bothered me until—“ He cut himself off, looking away from Bitty and down at his lap.

               “He was an enabler, I suppose. I don’t know. It wasn’t his fault, though.” Jack took a careful breath, as if there was limited air in the room and he had to conserve it; “He wanted to help, so when I told him the pills helped, he encouraged me to take them. I wanted to take them, too. It was just easier, I guess. I didn’t feel bad about taking twice or three times my recommended dose when Kent told me to.

               “I blamed him afterwards, in some ways. I didn’t let him into my room when I was in rehab, blocked his number on my phone, took him out of my life. It felt like I had to get rid of everything from that time, like he was just another toxic coping mechanism. I guess he was, in a way.”

               “It’s not your fault either.” Bitty blurted, not meaning to but not being able to stop himself.

               Jack smiled sadly; “I’m the one who had the mental problems, not him.”

               “That doesn’t make it your fault. Neither of you knew how to…” he paused, trying to think of a kinder word than ‘handle’, knowing that the pause itself would say it for him; “deal with your anxiety, so you both dealt with it the best way you knew how.” He couldn’t believe he was defending Kent Parson, but despite all of his anger he knew that blaming him wouldn’t help Jack. He understood, too. Kent had felt like Jack had everything handed to him, and had taken that out on him. Jack didn’t deserve it, but Kent was just a teenager. That didn’t mean he wasn’t still going to hate him, though.

               Jack shrugged and stared at lap; “I suppose I can blame anxiety if I want to blame anything.”

               “You don’t have to blame anything.” Bitty said, tentatively holding the side of Jack’s face with his palm; “sometimes bad things happen to good people, and sometimes good people make mistakes.” Jack looked up at him then, and the pure vulnerability, the raw sorrow in his eyes made Bitty’s heart stutter. “I think you’re so strong to have gone through that. You managed to find a new life for yourself at Samwell, to find new coping mechanisms. Jack, you’re the strongest person I know. You—“

               Jack shook his head, pulling away from Bitty, folding his arms around his chest and pulling his knees up to his chin.

“You don’t understand. It wasn’t a mistake. I didn’t—I gave up, Bittle. I meant to do it. After the draft…” he paused and sucked in a shaky breath. Bitty knew was he was trying to say, knew it from the taste of bile that rose in his throat, but he stayed silent. He thought that maybe Jack needed to say it. “Kent had always told me he would go first in the draft. He said that he was the better player, he was more determined, he deserved it more. I was good too, though. I worked harder than him, skipped parties and club nights to practice, played like my life depended on it because to me it did. It really, really did.”

Bitty marveled at how small Jack could make himself, the large, muscular hockey player unrecognizable when he was a curled into the fetal position. He was fighting against the lump in his throat, trying to stay strong for Jack.

“That didn’t mean I was playing better, though. I was falling apart. The drugs made my hands shaky, but if I didn’t take them the anxiety made them shake instead. They made me forgetful, too. My coach would give us a play and I wouldn’t be able to remember it when I was out there on the ice. It didn’t come as a surprise that Kent was picked first. In fact, I was ready for it. I was sitting in front of the TV with a bottle of water and a new subscription of pills.”

               Bitty was crying, tears leaking intermittently from his eyes as he stifled his sobs, knowing how important it was that he didn’t interrupt.

               “Oddly enough, it wasn’t even the fact that I was second that hurt the most. It was what Kent would say, or, what I imagined him saying.” He laughed, but the sound of it was more like a moan; “’You see, Zimms? This is why your daddy didn’t mean anything’ or ‘I guess I deserved it more than poor little rich boy, huh?’. In retrospect, he probably wouldn’t have said anything like that.  Or maybe he would have, I don’t know. Either way I couldn’t get his voice out of my head, couldn’t get past the look on my father’s face when he would say something nice, pretend that he didn’t care I was second when I knew he would. So I took the pills. I wasn’t frantic or anything. I did it methodically, two at a time, while ESPN talked about how I had failed to meet expectations in the background.” Jack sounded numb, voice devoid of emotion, like he was telling someone else’s story. “I wasn’t a victim. It wasn’t a mistake. I tried to kill myself because I was too weak to handle the truth.”

               Bitty gave up on trying to compose himself, knowing that his voice was trembling and his eyes were wet but not able to care; “Jack” he said, “do you wish you had died?” Jack looked up at him, startled, apparently expecting a different response.

               “At the—“

               “No, right now. Do you wish right now that you had died six years ago?”

               “No!” he blurted, unfolding from himself slightly grab Bitty’s hand; “No, I-I like my life now.”

               “Then it was a mistake.” Bitty said, gripping Jack’s hand in both of his; “It wasn’t an accident, but it was a mistake.” He knew his voice was high pitched and whiny sounding, his words interrupted by sobs; “It wasn’t your fault, Jack. You were sick, you weren’t getting the help you needed, so you made a mistake.”

               Jack’s face morphed suddenly from a look of surprise to the twisted expression of someone about to cry. Bitty had never seen anyone burst into tears so quickly, had never seen someone go from calm to hysterically sobbing in the blink of an eye.

               Bitty pulled Jack forward, let him collapse against his chest, wrap his arms around his waist and bury his face in his neck. He rocked back slightly as Jack’s full weight was thrown onto him, but stabilized himself quickly, clutching Jack’s back and stroking through his hair softly with his free hand.

               Jack said something, his voice indiscernible through his crying.

               “Shhh, honey. I can’t understand you. Just cry for now, you’ve talked enough.” He said, kissing the top of Jack’s head.

               Jack’s crying slowed like a rainstorm. He would sob a bit quieter for a moment, only to grow louder the next, repeating the cycle over and over, his chest trembling and jumping against Bitty’s, his tears soaking into his T-shirt. Eventually, the crying began to fade, his breathing slowing from frantic gasps to shaky exhalations.  

               “No one’s ever said it wasn’t my fault.” He said, his voice hoarse; “Maman and Papa said that it was OK, that I didn’t mean it, but that just made me feel worse because I did mean it. My therapists always said it was because I didn’t know how to cope, because I didn’t handle my anxiety.”

               Bitty felt a swell of anger rise up from his stomach, but he stifled it.

               “Sweetheart, of course it wasn’t your fault. You wouldn’t tell someone who has an asthma attack because they forgot their inhaler that their suffering is their fault. It’s true that you didn’t know how to cope, but it’s not your fault. No one is born knowing how to manage anxiety.”

               Jack didn’t say anything, but he squeezed Bitty tighter, clutching at his back as his breathing slowly returned to normal. Bitty had forgotten that he had been crying himself, only realizing it when he noticed how crusty his face felt. He let them sit like that for a while longer, Jack splayed haphazardly in his lap, Bitty running his hands soothingly over his back.

               “Let’s get cleaned up.” He finally said, gently setting Jack on his side in the bed. Jack let himself be moved, making no effort to resituate his awkward position beyond unclenching his fists from Bitty’s shirt, the front of it smeared with snot and tears, making it stick uncomfortably to his chest. He took it off while he walked into the bathroom, getting a washcloth wet to wipe at his face and then his chest. His eyes were puffy and rimmed red, his cheeks splotchy, but he didn’t much mind what he looked like. He got another cloth wet for Jack, walking back into their bedroom to find him lying in the same position he had left him in. His eyes were closed, and if he hadn’t been awake two minutes ago Bitty would think he was sleeping. He put on a clean shirt before crawling into bed, pulling Jack’s head into his lap and wiping his face clean, running the cloth gently beneath his swollen eyes. When he was finished, he leaned down and kissed Jack’s forehead, then each eye, then his nose, and finally his lips. Jack kissed back gently, nothing more than a slight puckering of his lips, but it made Bitty smile.

               “Can you open your eyes for me, darling?” he asked, and Jack did.

               “I love you” they both said at the exact same time.

               It startled a laugh out of Bitty, and he was delighted to see a small smile on Jack’s lips.

               “How about we go to sleep early tonight,” Bitty suggested. Jack nodded and scooted up on the bed so that his head was on the pillow. Bitty kissed his forehead again before getting up; “I’ll get an icepack to lay over your eyes and stop the swelling. Moomaw always says that the worst part of crying is the headache you get afterwards,” he said, going into the kitchen to grab a pack from the freezer and wrap it in a dishtowel; “whenever I would cry,” he continued, talking louder so Jack could her him from the bedroom; “which admittedly is a whole lot, my Mama would wrap frozen peas in a paper towel and put them over my face. Why did we always have frozen peas, anyhow? Mama abhors any frozen food. Maybe she just bought them to be ice packs, I don’t remember ever eating any.” He stopped rambling when he saw Jack looking at him, eyes so fond and loving it took his breath away.

He placed the ice pack gently on Jack’s face, kissing his lips before pulling the comforter up from the bottom of the bed, laying himself over Jack’s chest and tucking them both in. Jack curled slightly towards Bitty, tucking his long legs up against his, and Bitty held him. They might have some more to talk about tomorrow, about why Jack still refused to see Kent and if he should let him back in his life. They had said enough for one night, though. Jack fell asleep almost immediately, and Bitty followed soon after, already planning the post-difficult-conversation-pie he was going to make tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG  
> It was really hard to bring myself to write this chapter, and then it ended up being the longest one yet. I promise the next one will come faster!


	4. Self Confidence

            The Falcs were playing better than anyone expected. It was likely a combination of particularly good picks in the draft this year, more sponsors, and a larger fan base, but Bitty liked to think that it was all thanks to one Jack Zimmermann. Some of the sports broadcasters—the very same ones that had called him ‘Lindsey Lohan’, Bitty thought bitterly—were attributing it to him, too. “Boy Wonder Redeems Himself” or some other nonsense.

            Jack was always the first to ruin this fantasy, saying generically humble things in his soundbites like “It’s a team effort” and “Everyone’s working really well together”. He never was one for complimenting himself. Even with Bitty he would deflect, refusing to accept that he was anything more than ‘good’ or ‘sufficient’.

            One time, when Bitty and Jack were laying together in his bed in Providence, having just celebrated a winning game with some spectacular sex, Jack had spoken in a quiet voice; “I’m playing really well.”

He said it like it was a secret, a taboo that should not be spoken.

            Bitty lifted his head from where it was resting on Jack’s chest to look at him, but his face was expressionless, his eyes closed.

            “Yeah, baby. You’re amazing.” Bitty said, running his finger down Jack’s jaw.

            Jack didn’t say anything, didn’t react, and as much as Bitty wanted to push it further and enumerate all of the ways in which Jack was doing ‘really well’ he knew that his compliments would just make him uncomfortable.

            Bitty just wished that Jack believed him when he told him that he was handsome, and fantastic, and talented. He wanted Jack to know that when he called him sweetheart it wasn’t just because of his southern mannerisms, it was because he meant it.

            Sometimes it felt like he and Shitty were in constant combat against Jack’s self-doubt, battling to somehow say something meaningful enough to breach the walls of inadequacy. Bitty knew, logically, that self-confidence can’t be forced on anybody, that Jack would have to find it himself, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to try anyway.

            The last game, the final fight for the cup, seemed to sneak up on Bitty. One minute he was sitting around anxiously, hoping the Falcs didn’t lose their streak, the next he was sitting next to Alicia and Bob Zimmermann in the friends and family section as Jack played the Penguins in the final game of the season.

            Jack had been quiet that morning, like he usually was before a big game, but not moody. He’d responded like he usually did when Bitty kissed him, even smiling when he scolded him for trying to read the note he had left on his PB&J early.

            Now he was all focus, zipping across the ice as fast as Bitty had ever seen him. It was an intense game without even considering what was at stake. Penalties were called more times than anyone could count, checks were hard, and the score was always too close for either team to really be winning.

            Bitty was on the edge of his seat, ignoring the group chat blowing up his phone, trying desperately to follow the puck as it was shot across the ice. It took him a second to realize what had just happened when Jack slapped the puck into the net with an assist from Tater, the final buzzer going off a moment later and the court erupting into a chorus of screams.

            Alicia was practically losing her mind to his right, cheering exaltedly for ‘her baby boy’ while clinging to a more subdued but equally enthusiastic Bad Bob. Bitty could see Jack through the blue and white confetti that twirled down from the ceiling, getting smashed into a team hug that turned quickly into a pile. He looked radiant, his entire face lit up like all of his dreams had come true because, really, they just did.

            Eventually Jack extricated himself and stood on his skates, scanning the crowd. Bitty knew what he was looking for and he ran down to the ice, nearly falling over the row of seats in front of him. Jack met him at the edge and embraced him in his strong, sweaty arms, lifting him up and into the air. Bitty laughed and clung to Jack’s shoulders, wrapping his legs around his waist just above the thickest padding.

            He didn’t realize he was crying until Jack was wiping his cheeks, his large hand made enormous by his gloves. Then they were kissing, just like they had planned. It wasn’t a particularly deep kiss, the outside world too loud and distracting to get lost in it and Bitty crying too hard anyway. When they pulled apart Bitty grabbed Jack’s face in both of his hands, squishing his cheeks slightly, enthralled at the way his eyes were shining with pure unchecked joy.

            Some of the Falcs skated over to them, slapping Jack on the back and hugging him and Bitty together. Their faces would be plastered all over the news tomorrow, Bitty knew. Jack was now the first out gay NHL player, but that hardly seemed to matter at the moment. Jack had to put Bitty down to take pictures with the cup, kissing him one last time and telling him to stay right there. It was the first thing either of them had said to each other since Jack went into the locker room to get his gear on earlier that day, and Bitty felt suddenly light headed at the realization that their whole lives had just changed.

            They kissed more in front of the cameras, at this point just because they could, and Bitty made a mental note to hunt down the pictures of them kissing next to the cup. Jack carried him all over the rink, partially because he didn’t have any skates and partially because Jack was so high on adrenalin he could carry him around for hours.

            Eventually the fanfare died down and Falconers began filing into the locker room to shower and change. Jack carried Bitty around the corner into a deserted hallway and pressed his back against the wall, kissing him aggressively and thoroughly.

            “Jack;” Bitty said, giggling as Jack bit his neck “Jack! You’re amazing! You’re magnificent! You’re the most wonderful hockey player, the most wonderful man, I’ve ever met!”

            Jack pulled back from where he was sucking hickies into Bitty’s collar bone and looked at him, not embarrassed like he tended to be when Bitty complimented him, but radiant.

            Bitty stroked his jaw, putting one hand on the back of his neck to pull him impossibly closer so that their noses slid together and their lips brushed, barely touching, as Jack smiled and said “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about something cliche and sappy after the last chapter?
> 
> I know absolutely nothing about hockey. I've never even watched a game, so sorry if anything is terribly inaccurate.


	5. Misunderstandings

            Eric Bittle’s life was absolutely perfect. He had a two time Stanly Cup winning superstar boyfriend, a successful cookbook, an internationally renowned cooking vlog, and he had been a celebrity judge on various Food Network shows no less than four times. There was even talk of him getting his own show sometime. His life was truly fantastic; there was nothing missing, nothing at all. Except maybe a ring.

            He wasn’t trying to be needy or anything. Jack was the perfect boyfriend—sometimes he was even a little too perfect, considering their argument when Jack tried to buy him a car after they had been together for only six months. He just honestly didn’t understand why it hadn’t happened yet. They’d been dating almost four years, a perfectly respectable amount of time, and everything had gone fantastically. No major blowouts, no arguments that lasted longer than a few days. They were, according to Shitty, “Major fucking relationship goals, man”.

            Bitty whisked the frosting he was making as a tester for Shitty and Lardo’s wedding cake a bit more aggressively. It’s not like Jack was usually one to wait on things. When he realized he liked Bitty he had run across Samwell’s campus to immediately kiss him for goodness sake; if anything it would make more sense if he had tried to propose way too early. But no, he was going to wait, and Bitty was going to have to aggressively bake twelve cakes so that his best friends could pick the perfect one for their wedding which they were having after only dating for two years. But that’s fine. His life was still absolutely perfect.

            He had finished eight small cakes by the time Jack got home from practice, dropping his bag by the door before pausing at the kitchen’s threshold. Bitty had, frankly, made a gigantic mess. Aggressive baking was never conductive towards tidiness, and as a result there was flower, sugar, cream, and other miscellaneous ingredients coating both the kitchen and the chef. There was a particularly noticeable splatter of bright pink frosting on one of the cabinets, dripping slowly down onto the counter.

            Bitty looked up at Jack from where he was scrutinizing two almost but not quite identical mini cakes and smiled; “Hi, honey!”

            “Um.” Jack said, looking nervous.

            “Lord, I know I’ve made a mess of things, but there’s just so much to do! I have to make sure all of these cakes are perfect before Lardo and Shitty come over tomorrow to taste them, and then I have to make them even more perfect based on what they like, and then they have to try them again and I have to make a final cake which just absolutely has to be spectacular looking and…” he trailed off as Jack came into the kitchen and delicately took the spatula he was gripping out of his hand.

            “I thought;” he said, speaking carefully, like he was trying to soothe a wild animal; “that Lardo said she just wanted chocolate.”

            Bitty huffed; “Yes, and Shitty said that he wanted a weed cake but we both know that neither of those—“

            Jack cut him off by kissing him swiftly. Bitty pouted but didn’t recommence babbling.

            “You only bake like this when you’re baking because you’re stressed about something else.” Jack said wisely.

            Lord, this boy knew him too well. Bitty looked away, biting his lip nervously.

            “Bits.” Jack said succinctly, using a palm on his cheek to tip Bitty’s face back towards himself.

            “I’m fine!” Bitty said, knowing how falsely chipper his voice sounded.

            He turned away on the pretense of checking the mini cakes in the oven even though he knew they wouldn’t be done for another ten minutes.

            Jack let him go, leaving the kitchen for his after practice shower. Bitty took a deep breath, bracing himself on the counter. Now Jack would probably think he was mad at him, which was really not right at all. Not for the first time the idea of proposing himself crossed his mind, but that just didn’t feel right. Jack had been the one to initiate everything in their relationship: first kiss, first ‘I love you’, first time, moving in together, coming out, everything. If Jack wasn’t initiating marriage then he had to have a reason not to. Bitty knew Jack loved him, knew Jack was in it for the long haul, but he couldn’t help the creeping doubt that maybe Jack hadn’t proposed marriage because he was holding out for something else. Was Bitty not doing enough? Was he not enough?

            He shook his head decisively. Those thoughts would do him no good, and he had four more cakes to frost. By the time Jack had finished with his after practice routine Bitty was scrubbing at the counter, all of the cakes having been finished and stowed away in the fridge for tomorrow.

            Jack came up behind him, cupping his elbows and pulling him away from the counter, forcing him to set down the paper towel he had been determinedly scrubbing with and turn around. He went willingly, instinctively placing his hands on Jack’s chest.

            “Are you mad at me?” Jack asked earnestly, his face the picture of concerned sorrow.

            “Lord, no! Of course not.” Bitty said, kissing the bottom of his chin as if to prove it.

            He felt jack relax under his hands, tension draining out of him with a sigh; “Then why are you upset? Is it something I did?”

             _It's actually something you haven't done_ he thought ruefully, shaking his head and pressing his face into Jack's neck.

            “Do you want to talk about it?” Jack asked, stroking his large hands up and down his back.

            To his mortification, Bitty felt a familiar tightness in his throat as his eyes welled up with tears. Jack was just so perfect, and he just wanted so badly to know that Jack thought he was perfect too, that their lives were perfect enough to continue like this forever. He tried to calm his breathing, but a soft sob escaped him nonetheless. Pressed against Jack as he was, there was no way to hide it.

            “Bitty” Jack said, sounding upset and only slightly alarmed; after four years he’d started to get used to Bitty crying.

            “I’m fine” he choked out, but the floodgates were open. Once he started crying there was no use in trying to stop.

            He let Jack hold him while he sobbed on his shoulder, pulling back after a few minutes with a hiccup. He wiped harshly at his eyes, angry with himself for losing it like that.

            Jack didn’t say anything, but he looked at him so earnestly Bitty thought it would be cruel to just cry on him and then shut him out, continuing to pretend that everything was fine.

            “I’m sorry” he gasped and Jack frowned.

            “Sorry for what?”

            “For crying! Goodness, nothing’s even really wrong, I just—“He took a deep breath, sliding his palms down Jack’s chest and twinning their hands together.

            “It’s just… helping Shitty and Lardo plan their wedding, it’s so overwhelming. I’m just so happy for them.”

            “That’s not why you’re crying” Jack said, brows drawing together; “I think by now I know the difference between your happy crying and your sad crying, eh?”

            His tone of voice was light, almost joking, and Bitty laughed despite himself. “Yes, well, I suppose you’ve had some practice with both.”

            “I don’t like the sad crying.” He said, his expressive eyes looking sadly down at Bitty and good god his heart just melted down to his feet.

            “I know. I’m—“

            “Don’t say sorry,” Jack interrupted, squeezing his hands; “just tell me what’s wrong.”

            Bitty looked down at the mess on the floor, wiggling his bare toes and feeling the gritty flower stuck between them.

            “I can’t say it.” He said, feeling terrible about it. How could he, though? ‘Oh, Jack, I’m upset that we haven’t gotten hitched yet’. What would Jack even say in response? Bitty had a feeling that he might propose, or at least promise to, and he really didn’t want to get married knowing that Jack had only decided to after being tearfully begged.

            Jack sighed; “I want to help.”

            “You are helping. Just being here is helping.” Bitty said, looking up at Jack, begging him to just let it go.

            “Alright” he said with a frown.

            Bitty smiled sadly and turned back to wiping down the counter, smiling a bit more genuinely when Jack poked at the frosting on the cabinet.

            “It’s good” he said, licking some off of his finger; “I think it would taste better on a cake, though.”

            Bitty threw the paper towel at him, laughing when it smacked him in the face.

 

 

 

            It took them nearly three hours, but Shitty and Lardo finally managed to narrow their cake choices down to two cakes. From there, Bitty would try to incorporate their favorite parts of both into one, although a lemon-almond-chocolate-caramel cake was a rather daunting order.

            Bitty had excused himself to go to the restroom and was just strolling back, high off of the success of goods well baked, when he heard his name in the sitting room.

            “Bruh, what is up with you and Bits?”

            He stopped at the edge of the hallway, peeping around the corner so he could see Jack’s back from where he was sitting with Lardo and Shitty lounging on the couch to his left.

            Jack shifted uncomfortably, gripping his glass of water with both hands.

            “Yeah, man, why the fuck weren’t you married three years ago?” Lardo asked, absentmindedly sucking some frosting off of her fork.

            “Um. Bittle doesn’t want to get married.” Jack said, almost so quietly Bitty couldn’t hear him. He frowned in confusion and inched a little further around the corner.

            Lardo choked on her water and Shitty pounded her on the back. “Dude, what?!” she finally managed.

            “Yeah man, Bits has had like, serious fucking wedding envy all month.” Shitty said, looking at Jack incredulously. Bitty felt his face flush.

            “I don’t know! He just— he said he didn’t want to!”

            “When?” Lardo asked, looking somewhere between furious and exasperated.

            “We’d been dating for a few months, five or six, I think. There were these people driving by in a car that said ‘Just Married’. I asked if he wanted that and he said no.”

            Bitty sucked in a breath; he knew exactly what Jack was talking about. It had been the day after their argument about Jack buying him a car, which Bitty adamantly refused because Jack was not his sugar daddy. He had pointed at a fancy sports car which just so happened to say ‘Just Married’ on the back and said ‘We can have that someday soon’. Bitty had said no, of course he didn’t need that, and he would never need anything like that. He had even been a little curt, if he remembered right, annoyed at having the same argument again. Jack had looked so disappointed. Of course Jack tried to casually bring up marriage after dating for a few months, and of course any negativity on Bitty’s part had shut him down for the next three and a half years. Lord save him from his emotionally constipated boyfriend.

            “Dude, that’s not really a conversation? Like, that’s not very clear.” Lardo said, looking bemused as she set her fork down on her plate.

            Bitty almost proclaimed his agreement before he remembered he was eavesdropping.

            “Do you think he wants to get married?” Jack asked, sounding heartrendingly hopeful.

            “Bro, I’m almost nine thousand percent sure he wants to marry you.” Shitty said, pulling Jack into a noogie. 

            “Where is he?” Lardo asked, looking off towards the hallway.

            Her gaze met Bitty’s, but she didn’t give him away. Instead, she raised an eyebrow and rolled her eyes. Bitty wasn’t sure if she was sharing her exasperation at him or Jack, but he figured they both deserved it.

            By the time Jack and Shitty had stopped wrestling Bitty had reentered the room, taking his seat next to Jack. Lardo spared him anymore meaningful looks and Shitty acted no differently, but he could feel an excited energy in Jack. Bitty kept especially close to him for the rest of the night.

 

 

 

            Later, after Bitty had washed the dishes and Jack had done his nightly workout, Jack suggested they go for a walk. They left their apartment hand in hand, headed for the park nearby. There was a calm energy in the air, not quite relaxed but not rushed either. Bitty hoped that Jack was planning his proposal. Would he do it before or after Shitty and Lardo’s wedding? It would be rude to steal their thunder, but then again they were the least likely people to care.

            The shadows that the trees cast on the sidewalk stretched out beneath their feet before fading into darkness, the sun setting quickly into the orange horizon just visible over the leaves. Bitty shivered, and smiled when Jack pulled his hand away to take off his jacket and put it over his shoulders. He grabbed Jack’s hand again, swinging their arms gently as they strolled.

            Eventually Jack pulled him off to the side, sitting down on a bench facing the lake. Bitty looked down at the plaque put into the ground at their feet, unable to red who the bench was dedicated to in the dim light.

            He looked over at Jack after a few moments of pleasant stillness only to find him already staring back. He smiled and squeezed their hands, pulling them both into his coat pocket to ward off the cold.

            “I love you.” Jack said softly, and Bitty kissed him gently.

            “I love you too, sweetheart.”

            Jack moved swiftly, kneeling on the ground at Bitty’s feet and pulling a red box from the pocket of his jeans.

            “Will you marry me?” He asked, and Bitty only caught a glimpse of a gold band with three inlaid diamonds before tears clouded his vision, toppling over his eyelid and rolling down his cheeks.

            “Y-yes! Oh my god, yes!” he cried, flinging himself at Jack, who laughed delightedly and caught him.

            “I’ve been waiting for three years” he stuttered, kissing all over Jack’s face; “and then one conversation with Shitty and Lardo and a few hours later—“

            Jack cut him off with a real kiss, their mouths sliding together heatedly as Bitty straddled Jack on the ground, the ring box lost somewhere between them.

            “You were eavesdropping.” Jack said when they pulled apart, looking as happy as Bitty had ever seen him, as happy as he had been winning the Stanley Cup for the first time.

            “When did you even have time to get a ring?” He asked, remembering it suddenly and scrambling to find where it had fallen.

            Jack picked it up from the grass next to him, brushing the dirt off and opening it again. The ring was beautiful; simple but very expensive looking. It fit him perfectly as Jack slid it slowly onto his finger.

            “I, uh, I already had it.” Jack said, sounding sheepish.

            Bitty smiled, stroking Jack’s cheekbone gently; “Even though you didn’t think we would ever get married?”

            “No, before then.”

            Bitty paused, leaning back slightly; “Jack Zimmermann, did you buy me a wedding ring after we had been dating for six months?” Jack just smiled at him, and Bitty laughed slightly hysterically; “good lord, you really are gone on me, aren’t’ you?”

            Jack kissed him gently, barely brushing their lips together. “Yeah, I am.”

            Bitty laughed, and then started crying again. By the time he had calmed down it was completely dark outside, and his butt was numb from sitting on the cold ground. He admired his hand, smiling at the unfamiliar feeling of metal between his fingers.

            “Look at me, I’ve made a mess of myself.” He said, wiping at his eyes and rubbing uselessly at the wet patch on Jack’s shirt.

            Jack grinned and pulled a neatly folded white square out of his pocket. “I came prepared.”

            Bitty smacked his arm, giggled, and gladly accepted the tissues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't help but love the 'grave misunderstandings over stupid things' trope. 
> 
> This is it for this series. Thank you to everyone who has commented and left kudos, it means a lot!

**Author's Note:**

> The chapters are pretty short, but I promise regular updates! Every other day, at least.  
> Please tell me what you think! Seriously, any feedback is helpful!


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